


All the World

by askboo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Historical, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/askboo/pseuds/askboo
Summary: Viktor sat in the window seat like an indulgent queen, surrounded by pillows, his full and dazzling red skirts flared out around him.  He spoke quietly to each person who stepped up before him, as if they alone had his attention. Watching him bestow it on to so many others made Yuuri want to strike a match, and burn down the playhouse with everyone still inside.





	All the World

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless Stage Beauty/Historical AU.
> 
> Viktor uses his beautiful face to play women on stage. Poor Yuuri also has a beautiful face but too much stage fright, so he works as Viktor's dresser/jealous boyfriend.

The air in the dressing room was thickened with a whole variety of foreign smells. Musk, whiskey, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke. Strangers crowded in the doors and lined the walls, men and women, journalists and fans and the occasional pervert (Christophe was here, even though he worked in the playhouse and could see Viktor any time).

Normally, so many people would not have been permitted into Viktor’s room. It was sometimes Yuuri’s task to stand in front of the closed door and permit only those who Viktor had selected to enter - some nights, he wanted only women, or visitors of higher class, or a person he had managed to catch a glimpse of in the audience and rather liked the look of. Some nights it was only persons with red hair or wearing yellow. Some nights, he allowed no one. Yuuri permitted these limited intruders unhappily, but at Viktor’s command. Yakov had insisted that tonight and for the rest of the week that all visitors should be given access after the performance - there was a rumour that the Queen might deign to visit his playhouse, and Yakov saw the buzz around Viktor’s career as a means to that end. Tonight, Yuuri stood all the way over by the rack that held Viktor’s dresses, shaking with a jealous rage as he picked the lint off the velvet sleeves and watched this all take place.

Viktor sat in the window seat like an indulgent queen, surrounded by pillows, his full and dazzling red skirts flared out around him. He soaked in the attention with his dark eyelashes half-lidded, his painted lips soft and smiling. He spoke quietly to each person who stepped up before him, as if they alone had his attention - Yuuri knew well enough the power of Viktor’s full attention - having been seduced by it every day these past five years of employment as his dresser. Watching him bestow it on to so many others made him want to strike a match, and burn down the playhouse with everyone still inside.

He took a deep breath instead, carefully sliding the dresses along the rack, making room for the dress that would soon be peeled off Viktor’s shoulders. He turned and spoke loudly over the voices in the room. “Everyone out, now,” he said commandingly. “Mr. Nikiforov needs to undress.”

There were multiple groans of disappointment and dissent. Some folks in particular looked as if Mr. Nikiforov undressing was something they might like to stay around to see (Christophe especially). Yuuri shooed them all out the door with waving arms and, as a last resort, with a few spritzes of the spray bottle he used to mist the potted plants. Finally slamming the door shut and turning the lock was like taking a sip of cold water, pure relief. 

When he turned, Viktor had slouched back against the pillows. Finally, he was allowing himself to look exhausted. He lifted his arm in an elegant sweep and held out his hand to Yuuri, wrist-up. An invitation to come closer. It wasn’t the feminine gesture that bothered Yuuri - that was so much a part of who Viktor was. It was that Victor was acting, putting on airs, trying to pull Yuuri with his beauty and grace and elegance, when he should have known better. Yuuri crossed the room to him, half-tempted to use that hand to pull Viktor harshly up and against him, so he could push up his skirts and have him right now, like this, remind him savagely who he belonged to. Instead, Yuuri took that hand and pulled it against his own chest, letting Viktor feel the bump of his heart against his shirt, fast - proof that Yuuri was already pulled, always. Viktor’s eyelashes fluttered, his lips falling open, and there was the Viktor that only Yuuri knew - young and vulnerable. 

He left him for a moment to retrieve the bowl of warm water and the gentle cloth that was waiting on the dressing table. Normally, Viktor liked to do this himself, but tonight, Yuuri crawled onto his lap, his knees on either side of Viktor’s waist. He put the bowl in his lap and wrung the excess water from the cloth, then, slowly, he began to wipe the ceruse and the rouge from Viktor’s face. Viktor’s eyes drifted closed. His breathing deepened. He brought one hand up to hold Yuuri by the waist. Yuuri kept dipping the cloth in the water, kept wiping, careful to get every last bit of kohl from his eyes, the red dye from the crevices in his lips. When he was done, Viktor’s face was revealed, dry in places, flushed in the cheeks, and not less beautiful in any increment. Yuuri reached up to unpin the red, curly wig from his hair, setting it carefully down on the window sill to be put away properly later. Viktor had used to have long hair that he wore natural for his performances - but for some reason he’d got it into his head that all the pinning and the curling that was required as part of his costumes would cause his hair to thin. He’d cut it short so he could wear wigs, and now, it was sticking up with sweat. Yuuri ran his hands through it, soothing it back down.

Viktor was almost asleep sitting up, so it took some coaxing to get him to stand, which he needed to do in order for Yuuri to get him undressed. Out came the stomacher, and down came the sleeves, the skirts, the petticoat, his stockings. Yuuri took it all apart piece by piece, carefully and properly. When he got back from storing them away, Viktor was still standing, barefoot in his shift, his eyes closed. Finally, Yuuri pushed him down into the pillows, and he went down with him, curling possessively around his body. Yuuri held him, and kissed him, his lips, his cheeks, his bony collar, and felt, finally, that everything was right.

Viktor wrapped his arms sleepily around Yuuri’s body and let out a chuckle, rich-sounding and deep. “I do like you jealous,” he murmured.

Yuuri sighed, tucking his face into Viktor’s neck, inhaling him - vinegar and powder. “Then you must like me all the time,” he mumbled in reply. 

Viktor’s hand lifted to card through the hair at Yuuri’s nape. “I did imagine,” he said. “That you would be so moved by jealousy, you would push me down and have me right here! I’d never be able to look at these pillows again without feeling the ache.”

“Believe me when I say, your imagination borders on truth,” Yuuri muttered. “It was a very near thing. Are you disappointed?”

“No,” Viktor said, with a smile. “I do think, Yuuri, you’re the only one who likes me like this.”

Dresses or pants, made-up or bare, man or woman, Yuuri didn’t think there was anyone who could resist any version of Viktor, fantasy or reality, made-up or real. 

What Yuuri did know was that he alone was permitted to see Viktor however he wanted, and that was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to draw Viktor in Elizabethan costume, I'd be most obliged.


End file.
